Who better than she, Jeannette declared, to arrange for Eliza’s new wardrobe? With Jeannette’s love of fashion and all things feminine, she was the perfect choice for the task. Besides, she confessed, she had been dying for literally years to get her hands on Eliza and dress her in something other than frowsy furbelows and drab shades of brown. Now, at long last, she had grinned, her chance had arrived.
Knowing Jeannette wasn’t in the least exaggerating her talents in the fashionable arts, and that she really was the best person to outfit Eliza with a new wardrobe, Kit had found himself agreeing to Jeannette’s offer. What he had not planned on was accompanying the ladies on their expedition. But that desperate, pleading look from Eliza had persuaded him otherwise.
Sweet Jesu, he would have felt worse than a puppy killer to ignore her silent entreaty.
So here he sat, bored and out of place. At least the toast points were tolerable, he mused, as he leaned forward to select another.
“Now, let us start on evening gowns,” Jeannette pronounced. “I would say we’ll need a minimum of two dozen.”
“Two dozen!” Eliza gasped in a faint voice of distress.
“Of course.” Jeannette nodded. “A lady never wishes to be seen in the same gown twice, so come to think of it, let us say three dozen evening gowns, just to be safe.”
“But the expense—”
“You’ve plenty of funds. It’ll do you good to spend some of them, especially if you intend to find a husband.” Jeannette turned back to the modiste. “Let us begin with the oyster satin. Hmm, perhaps we should add a row of appliquéd roses along the hem? They are all the rage this Season, you know.”
“Yes, my lady, roses would look lovely, and mayhap a pale rose tulle underskirt, if I might suggest.”
“In what style? Have you a sketch?”
“Yes indeed. Let me find the pattern book.”
As the woman hurried away, Jeannette looked again at Eliza. “My dear Miss Hammond, why don’t you go to the changing room with Madame’s assistant before the poor thing faints from nerves. She’s been hovering so these many minutes past.”
Kit saw both women gaze toward the girl, the servant waiting along the room’s periphery exactly as Jeannette described.
“Your fitting must be seen to directly if the seamstresses are to have any hope of altering the pair of dresses Madame has set aside for you. Otherwise, they will not be ready by tomorrow,” Jeannette continued.
“I-I can wait a few days for my new gowns,” Eliza objected in a soft tone. “It is not as if I will be making any calls soon.”
“You’ll be attending the christening tomorrow. It won’t do for you to arrive at the church in black. It is such a depressing shade.”
“But I am in mourning.”
“Half mourning. No one will think ill of you if you wear a bit of color. Ah, here is Madame returned, so run along. She and I shall do quite well on our own for a time.”
For a moment, Eliza looked as if she intended to hold her ground and argue the point, but abruptly her shoulders drooped and she turned meekly away. She and the servant girl disappeared behind a curtain that led to a room in the back of the shop.
The tableau concluded, Kit propped his elbow onto the single, high arm of the divan and sipped his wine.
Less than five minutes later, Madame Thibodaux’s assistant shot out from behind the curtain, an expression of deep distress marring her cute, button-nosed face. A flurry of muffled conversation ensued between the girl and her employer.
“Your pardon, my lady. My lord,” the modiste said, a sharp frown etched upon her forehead. “Miss Hammond apparently requires my help. I shall return in but a moment.”
Jeannette paused in her assessment of the pattern book. “Is there some problem?”
“Oh, no, no problem. Just a small delay, it would seem.”
But it was more than a small delay, the modiste’s obvious pleadings issuing audibly from the dressing room a scant minute later.
Jeannette set down the book. “What on earth is the matter?”
Kit raised an eyebrow and met her puzzled gaze with a curious one of his own.
Madame emerged seconds later, lips pinched as if she’d eaten an unripened persimmon. “She won’t have them.”
“Who won’t have what?” Jeannette asked.
“Miss Hammond. She will not have the dresses we selected.”
The countess gave a dainty gasp. “Of course she will have them, do not be absurd.”
“I tell you, she is most adamant.”
“That doesn’t sound like her. Eliza Hammond is an exceptionally quiet, biddable female.”
“Well, not today, my lady. She does not want the gowns and I cannot force her into them. If she does not care for my creations then perhaps she should look elsewhere.”
“I am sure that is not it at all. Let me talk to her and find out what the difficulty is.”
Jeannette turned and walked into the back.
But to Kit’s amazement, Jeannette had no more luck persuading Eliza to try on the gowns than the other two women before her. Sea-colored eyes awash with tumult, Jeannette emerged from the dressing room, as plainly at a loss as the others.
“She’s being impossible,” Jeannette declared.
Kit set down his wine, came to his feet. “What did she say?”
“Nothing, that’s what she said. She just sits there and says, ‘No, I will not wear them,’ then stares at the floor.”
“Perhaps I should take a turn speaking to her,” he suggested.
“Well, you can try if you wish,” she said, her skepticism plain.
“In the meantime, why don’t you continue selecting clothing for Eliza’s wardrobe.”
“Even if she won’t wear what I choose?”
“Oh, she’ll wear it. Unless she wishes to renege on our agreement. She’s already given me her promise on the matter.”
Striding across the room, he easily located the entrance to the dressing room. A discreet tap on the frame announced his presence, then without further preamble he shoved aside the gold damask curtain that acted as a door to the elegantly appointed dressing chamber.
He found Eliza seated upon a blue velvet upholstered bench, her head down, her gaze fixed upon a very dull pair of black half boots. Her chin came up, eyes widening as he strode unceremoniously inside.
“My lord, what are you doing? You can’t be in here.”
“Don’t see why not. It’s not as if there was any risk of catching you in your unmentionables. From what I hear, you won’t take off so much as a stitch, let alone give either of those new frocks a try.”
Color flooded her cheeks. “Lord Christopher!”
“Kit. Please, call me Kit. Never have cared for ‘Lord Christopher,’ always puts me in mind of some stuffy old duffer. Besides, you and I have known each other long enough to safely dispense with the formalities, don’t you think?”
Eliza shifted on the bench and let her lashes sweep downward. What she thought was that he was large and male and took up far too much space inside the limited confines of the room. Anyway, why was he here? Had they sent him in to work on her as well, despite the impropriety of such an action?
“Yes, I suppose. But that does not change the fact that you should not be here. This is a ladies dressing room,” she insisted, “and I’ll thank you to leave.”
“Not until we’ve talked.” He moved closer and startled her by sliding onto the bench. His thigh brushed her skirts as he settled himself, the clean scents of milled soap and bay rum drifting across to tease her nostrils. She caught herself before she gave in to the urge to lean closer and sniff him like some rare, exotic spice.
“Well now,” he said, resting his gorgeous hazel gaze upon her. “Tell me what is awry.”
She plucked at a crease in her skirt. “Nothing.”
“Must be something. I understand you’ve refused to try on the dresses? Why is that?”
“Because I do not wish to try them on
, that is all.”
“Don’t you like them?” From the corner of her eye she saw him look toward the pair of gowns hanging from a built-in wooden rod. “They seem pretty enough to me, though I confess I’m only a man and don’t know all the finer points of fashion. Jeannette lost me somewhere around the time she started discussing Gabrielle sleeves and palatine tippets.”
“She lost me well before that,” Eliza confessed, peeking up long enough to meet his grin. Finding his humor infectious, she couldn’t help but smile back. “She barely listens to my opinion.”
“Is that what’s wrong? You’d like to be consulted?”
“Not really. It’s…”
“Yes?”
She studied her boots again, falling silent.
Heavens, she really wished he would go. She couldn’t think sensibly with him so close. He took up nearly the entirety of the bench, his wide shoulders barely an inch distant from her own.
“Come on, Eliza, tell me,” he coaxed when she failed to answer his query. “I am sure whatever it is we can see it resolved. Surely it can’t be as bad as all that.”
It is, she silently bemoaned. It’s worse.
“You might as well get it out.” He stretched his booted feet in front of him. “Otherwise the day is going to grow very long indeed while the two of us sit here together.”
Catching the tilt of his chin, she realized that he meant every word. When Kit decided on something he could dig in tight as a burrowing scallop.
She sighed and linked her fingers in her lap. “It is the color,” she whispered.
“What? I didn’t quite hear.”
“The color,” she said, forcing herself to speak louder. “I can’t wear those colors.”
Kit studied the dresses again. “Why not? The colors seem fine to me.”
“But they’re purple and gold!”
“Yes, and so they are,” he said in an agreeable tone. “Don’t you like purple and gold?”
“I do, but…”
“But?”
She hung her head, wishing she hadn’t said a word. Wishing she could take it all back so she did not have to discuss her fears, especially with him. Kit would think her foolish. He might even laugh. Dear God, what if he laughed?
Suddenly she wanted to sink into the floor—or better yet, close her eyes and disappear. What a miraculous power that would be, she mused with real longing. How lovely to just wish for invisibility and find oneself fading away until nothing remained but air.
But as impossible as that might be, so too would be hiding this from Kit. She didn’t even need to sneak a glance to feel his keen gaze upon her, to sense his calm patience as if it were an actual touch.
She waited for him to press her further, to keep on with the questions and the demands. Instead he said nothing, a quiet, steady presence at her side. One full minute ticked past, then a second, and yet he made no impatient moves, gave no sign he wanted to be anywhere other than where he was at that moment.
An odd resignation stole through her. “They’ll stare,” she finally murmured.
He leaned close, his voice deep and kind. “Who will stare?”
“Everyone.” A shudder rushed through her. “If I wear those gowns, the whole of Society will stare.”
And find me lacking, think me ridiculous as a plain brown sparrow trying to pass myself off as a brilliantly plumed jay, she concluded silently. Only a woman of daring could hope to wear such rich, vibrant, utterly captivating shades. What was Jeannette thinking to put her in such eye-drawing gowns? To tempt her with finery that was quite obviously unsuited to a girl like herself?
“Even if they do stare,” Kit stated, “it will be with nothing but admiration.”
She met his gaze and shook her head. “No, it will be in derision and scorn. They will laugh at me and wonder who I am to attempt such splendor. Everyone knows plain women should not wear bright colors.”
It was Kit’s turn to stare, but out of pure surprise. He studied her features, thinking at first she must be jesting. But sadly he realized she was not, recognizing the deep lines of vulnerability etched in her face. Obviously he knew of her shy nature but he had never given much thought to its cause. Did she really think people would mock her for wearing pretty colors? Did she equate standing out with being the brunt of jokes and ridicule?
“That,” he declared, “is a load of nonsense. Was it your aunt who filled you full of such tarradiddle?”
Her mouth dropped open. “No, I—well, I don’t know.”
“Of course it must have been she. Who else could have drummed such a bunch of rubbish into your brain?” He grunted, not at Eliza but at the bitter, miserly old woman who had raised her. He slapped his hands against his thighs. “Well, whatever it is she told you about such matters, you are to forget them all. From now on you are to listen to me. I am your mentor, remember? It’s my job to steer you along the right path.”
“And you think these gowns are the right path?”
“If Jeannette believes so, then yes. She has excellent taste, and in this, at least, I trust her implicitly.”
Eliza swallowed, her trepidation still in evidence. “B-but the colors she is choosing are too daring. They aren’t at all the usual thing for an unmarried woman to wear during the Season.”
“True, but then, you aren’t the usual thing either. Forgive my bluntness, but we both know this isn’t your first Season. Since it is not, there’s no need to follow the rules and dress you in the demure pastels and dainty whites most girls wear. When you enter a room, people will look and you will want them to. You’ll appear both striking and dramatic. Men will flock to your side, relieved to be in the company of a girl who has maturity and a brain filled with more than empty-headed fluff.”
Her lips tightened, then quivered slightly. “How can you be so sure? Men have never liked my brain before.”
“Once we are done with your lessons, they will. You’ll have all the skills needed to change their minds, right at the tips of your fingers.”
“But what if I cannot master the lessons? What if the gowns don’t look as you imagine? You haven’t even seen me in one of them yet.”
“Precisely why you need to try one on.”
She sighed, realizing how neatly he had maneuvered the conversation.
“I’ll tell you what,” he offered at her continued reluctance. “You try on one of the gowns and if you don’t look positively splendid, then we’ll jettison the entire plan. You and I and Jeannette will start from scratch.”
She brightened a bit. “Do you mean it? You’ll be honest with me even if the truth is as bad as I suspect?”
“Of course I’ll be honest. You have my word as a gentleman.”
She nodded, his oath apparently relieving the worst of her fears. “Very well. You may send Madame Thibodaux’s assistant back in.”
“Excellent.” He stood and tossed her a smile before crossing to the entrance. Pulling back the golden drape, he paused. “Oh, and Eliza.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever again refer to yourself as plain. You may not be a diamond of the first water like Jeannette and Violet, but that doesn’t mean you lack your own kind of beauty.”
He left her with amazement shining bright as silver in her gentle gray eyes. Resuming his place once more on the curved sofa, he waited for Eliza to emerge, answering only a few of Jeannette’s questions about how he had managed to convince Eliza to change her mind.
He only hoped he’d done the right thing. What if she didn’t look good in the gowns? What if, for all his confident words, she wasn’t able to benefit from his guidance and attract the husband she so obviously craved? As he’d told Violet, he was just a man and not a magician.
Eliza came into the room, her step hesitant as she awaited his reaction, her uncertain gaze darting toward him then away. He sucked in a sharp breath, astonished at the change something as simple as a dress could achieve. He stared and realized Eliza had been right about that—she did make
him want to stare and stare some more.
Swathed in a rich shade of dark lilac, she was positively radiant. Her skin looked creamy, her eyes vibrant and her figure…well, her shape was even better than he’d suspected it might be. Always before she had worn gowns that were slightly too big and rather shapelessly made. But this one Jeannette had chosen fit Eliza in a way that emphasized the fact that she was indeed every inch a woman. Femininity fully formed with a pair of small but shapely breasts, curvaceous hips and a slender waist that begged to be encircled by a pair of eager male hands. As for what lay concealed beneath her skirts—well, he could only imagine and assume it must be every ounce as fine as the rest.
Realizing where his thoughts had led him, he forced his gaze toward a display of ribbons near the shop’s front window.
“Oh, don’t you look a picture,” Jeannette declared, striding forward on a rustle of skirt. “I knew that color would suit you perfectly and it does. Look how she glows. Doesn’t she just glow?”
Yes, he agreed, she did glow. In a manner he would never have thought to associate with his sister-in-law’s quiet friend.
“I quite agree, my lady,” the modiste concurred. “An inch off the bottom of the skirt and a tuck or two here and there and this dress will suit her well.”
Despite the women’s positive opinions, Eliza’s uncertain expression did not disappear. “Kit? What do you think?” she ventured. “Do you…do you like it?”
Eliza waited, clearly unsure and as ill at ease as a first-year plebe sent before the headmaster. What a brute he was to make her suffer. He set aside his unaccountable response—the second in only three days’ time starting with her new haircut—and answered her with complete and unfeigned sincerity.
“I like it very much. You and that dress are a match made in heaven.” He smiled widely. “See, I told you that color would suit. You had nothing whatsoever to fear.”
“Are you sure? It’s not too bold?”
“Certainly not. You look amazing, Eliza, and don’t ever think otherwise.”
The Wedding Trap Page 5